All incidents are true; the timeline and events leading to the writer encountering various characters in some stories (especially the ones about yore) may be fictitious. Shooter has made his best attempt to keep people's identities confidential. The purpose of the blog is not to hurt or judge people but to provide an insight into an era gone forever and never to return.

Wednesday, 29 August 2012

The Sophia Diary: Squalor, sophistication and Robbie the sportsman.

“Driven Boar
hunt in Bulgaria”

“Biggest Red
deer in Europe”

“Trophy
Mouflon in Bulgaria”

“Driven
pheasant shoots”

The
wonderful Balkan country promises a lot of excitement for a sportsman searching
the internet for hunting destinations in Europe.

Having never
hunted there, I cannot confirm if it is a premier hunting venue in Europe, but
if the quotations for hunts were anything to go by, the prices certainly are
premier.

“How can a
country, where everything else is so affordable, be so expensive for hunting?”
I wondered.

Thus I
decided that when next there, I would try to look for local connections and
maybe discover some affordable guides and outfitters.

Sofia, the
city of churches, laden with history. Centuries of governments changing hands
have led to Bulgaria being an amalgamation of Greek, Turkish and Balkan culture
traditionally with a more recent eastern bloc flavour. All of this seemed to be
epitomised in the capital, Sofia.

The block
like purpose built housing estate, beggars on the streets, dilapidated
buildings, cracked pavements and roads with potholes, all pointed towards
toward a city that had seen better days.

In contrast,
the farmers market, the food stalls, the bakeries, all modest in appearance,
promised flavours and aromas to rival eateries the world over.

Most of the
shops in town were small, not demanding a second glance. True, in one district
one did have an odd international jeweller boasting a tasteful showroom but on
the whole the marketplace was rows of small, plain looking shops selling
average quality consumer goods.

I had gotten
addresses of a few gun shops in Sofia and had hoped to run into people who had
connections with hunting operators there.

I was making
my down the streets of Sofia keeping a sharp lookout for the shop(s) lest I
miss them. I needn’t have bothered.

The first shop
–and the subsequent ones I visited- was not only big and posh by Sofia standards;
they were grand and tasteful by any standards; at least by my experience of
visiting similar shops across 4 continents.

The
lighting, the interiors, the glass were as if done by a professional designer.
The sales people and the clients appeared sophisticated; the goods stocked were
all from reputed international brand and the prices were more than I had seen
anywhere in the western world! The way the customers were shopping, they didn’t
seem to care either.

“Excuse me”.

“Yes”

“I am
looking for some information about hunting in Bulgaria”.

The sales
girl’s expression (Yes, the gun shops in Sofia have sales girls who seemed to
be perfectly comfortable showing semi automatic rifles to customers and
answering their questions) suggested she didn’t understand English so with a
polite nod, she got another sales person to help me out.

The other
person, though was better at English, couldn’t understand that I didn’t want a
Sako or a handgun despite (or maybe because of?) me showing him various
pictures of me with game on my mobile.

A customer,
sensing the confusion, came to my rescue and kindly offered to help me. Pulling
out his mobile, he wrote down a number from his contact list.

“Call
Robbie. He will help you”, he said with a flourish.

I left the
shop thanking him. Not exactly how I had envisioned it. I was hoping to run
into a group of hunters who I would befriend and who in turn would tell me how
to go about hunting in Bulgaria without taking out a second mortgage. Or maybe
even invite me out to go with them.

Continuing
my journey through Sofia, I couldn’t noticing that the city once grand but
ageing with the burden of time was seeing some renovation like an aging actress
getting a facelift. It reminded me of the state of hunting in general. Once the
grandest of sports, now neglected and forgotten by all but a few.

Thus lost in
such thoughts I came to a second shop and made similar enquiries about hunting
in Bulgaria. This time one of the customers gave me a visiting card asking me
to “just call. Everything else will be taken care of”. This was more like it.
Just as I was about to thank him for his hospitality, he said “This is Robbie’s
number. He will arrange a hunt for you.”

I compared
the two numbers. They were the same. Maybe there was hope. Maybe this Robbie
was the answer to my questions. Maybe Robbie would arrange a big driven boar
shoot for me. Or should I ask him for a moufflon hunt?

I looked up
to find myself in a vegetable market which seemed to be away from the touristy
paths as I seemed to be the only outsider. The locals went around their
business of buying their fruits and veggies and the stall owners eyed me with
mild amusement, correctly assuming that I had lost my way.

Taking out
my map, I found my way out and strolled towards another part of town. I chanced
upon a grand double storey building that could well have been a flagship store
of a designer label.

“What a
grand showroom. Looks like a major fashion brand flagship store.” I thought.
Suddenly I saw the famous trident of the Beretta logo. This was a gun shop!

I went in
and what a sight for sore eyes! Double glass door entrance, trophies on the
wall, wood panelling, and glass showcases with soft spotlights focussing on the
goods inside. Sections for semi-auto sporting rifles. There were two sales
girls who professionally asked me if they could help.

I
complimented them on how aesthetically pleasing this gun shop was and how we didn’t
have shops of such calibre (no pun intended) in the UK.

After
looking around, I went through the routine of trying to explain that I was
looking for hunting and if they could help. They went in to fetch their boss
who came out holding a glossy magazine in Cyrillic. Though I couldn’t read what
it said, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it was a high end hunting
magazine. He held open a page showing a handsome man sitting over various
trophies he had bagged.

“You know
this man, yes?” enquired the boss.

Now I admit
that I might not follow celebrity gossip but do read books about shooting. And
I certainly do not recognise any famous hunters other than Corbett, Bell and a
few more. However these photographs were new and which current hunter was famous
enough to be recognised just by his photo?

The boss didn’t
offer any answers assuming that if I were a hunter, I must know who this man
was.

Well in the
last couple of hours, there was only one name I had come across so I hazarded a
guess.

“Robbie?”

“Yes
correct!” said the boss, not overly impressed. After all, this was the great
hunter Robbie and I had taken half a minute to place him.

“Take his
number, call him and he will arrange everything for you.”

“Thanks, I
already have his number.”

The boss
looked puzzled. Why was I asking for hunting contacts if I had Robbie’s number?

I found no
other hunting contacts during my visit to Sofia. However I did discover why the
hunting prices were the way they were. It seemed to be controlled by one man.

I still have
Robbie’s number with me and look forward to meeting this king of hunting in
Bulgaria and sharing this story with him.